


alstroemeria

by willowcabins



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, F/F, Imagine Me and You - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2424200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowcabins/pseuds/willowcabins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m married,” Jemma whispered. Skye smiled sadly and looked down at her hands that were tying the flowers together.</p><p>“I know,” Skye murmured.</p><p>“I love Fitz,” Jemma repeated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [the multifandom femslash fic exchange](multifandomfemslash.tumblr.com) on tumblr, specifically for tumblr user [ophan beth](orphanbeth.tumblr.com)

She was walking down the aisle, steps measured. When she looked up at her father, he was smiling at her. She looked at the end of the aisle; Fitz was there, looking dashing in his little suit, grinning at her ecstatically. Jemma grinned in reply; Fitz’s smile had this wonderful effect on her. She took another 2 steps, and made herself breathe deeply. She blushed a deep red when she realised people around her were looking at her. “Everyone thinks you look stunning,” her father murmured to her. Jemma looked up at him and grinned tearfully.

"Thanks Dad," she murmured. He squeezed her arm. Another 3 steps.

Something moved in the corner of her eye.

Jemma looked to her left. She could see clean between two aisles; a young woman was walking up the aisles away from the wedding. She looked at the exact same second, and for one moment their eyes were locked. Jemma would have stopped; there was something compelling, deep and so affectionate about this woman. She smiled, sadly, and then Jemma’s father took another step, dragging her.

Jemma looked back up again, suddenly disorientated.

"Who was that?’ She whispered to her father. He just smiled down at her blandly; he had not heard her. Then he gave her hand to Fitz, and suddenly she felt his comforting touch.

It didn’t stop the sinking feeling at the back of her mind that she had missed something. She should have known who that girl was. But she did.

"Dearly beloved -" it had started. She tore her away her eyes from the side entrance of the church (right near the alter; a convenient place to run too. Where had that thought come from?) and turned to smile at Fitz.

"You look wonderful," he murmured, his tone oddly tearful. Jemma smiled at him.

"You look dashing," she replied sweetly. He grinned, and his smile was dazzling, and suddenly Jemma remembered why she was here.

"Are you ever going to make your speech?" Ward was tapping the table impatiently. Jemma shot him a glare.

"Stop stressing Fitz out," she chastised. Ward made a face. Fitz shakily reached for the champagne glass. Jemma stopped him.

"Fitz!" She said, gently slapping his wrist. "You want to be able to say _something_! Your  _aunt_  is here!”

"I know," Fitz said, voice quavering. Jemma rolled her eyes.

"I’m going to get you some punch," she decided. "It’s got less alcohol than that, and the sugar will make you feel better."

"As well as all the E numbers," Ward loudly added behind her. Jemma rolled her eyes.

"Today is not a day for fitness talk," she called to Ward over her shoulder. She wasn’t looking where she was going, and her wedding dress was far more awkward to walk in than she had first anticipated; seven steps towards the punch and she had already stumbled several times.

Then she stumbled again, and nearly fell over.

"Watch out there," a young woman said, catching Jemma’s hand and stabilizing her. Jemma laughed awkward and rearranged her dress, dropping the girls hand quickly.

"I’m so sorry," she spluttered; she looked up awkwardly. It was the girl from earlier, a sweet smile on her face.

"It’s okay," the girl excused her. "You  _are_  the bride.”

"I haven’t even had that much to drink…" Jemma started; the young woman laughed.

"I just meant that dresses and heals can be awkward. I’ve been to a lot of weddings: I know what you go through," she explained sympathetically. Jemma tilted her head.

"You’ve been to a lot of weddings?" She repeated.

"Yes!” The girl said with a smile. There was a beat during which Jemma tried to desperately place the face. “I’m the florist," the girl added, quickly.

"The florist?" Jemma repeated, oddly caught off guard by the phrase.

"Yes." The girl gestured around. "I arranged these flowers for you," she prompted. Jemma blushed.

"Yes! Of course! The florist! I’m sorry, for some reason I just blanked on that word." She laughed awkwardly. The young woman grinned.

"I’m Skye," she said, sticking out her hand. "I think I emailed you  _once_  before your mother took over.” Jemma shook her hand, laughing.

"Jemma," she introduced herself. "And yes, my mother can be a bit of a handful. I hope she didn’t overwhelm you with requests." Skye brushed it off.

"I have dealt with far worse mothers," she assured Jemma with a grin. Jemma sighed with relief and then gestured at the punch.

"I was just getting Fitz some punch," she explained. "He’s very nervous about his speech."

"He’s making a speech?"

"Yeah, and Fitz does not like public speaking."

"So why is he doing it?"

"I don’t know, to be honest. But he insisted on it. So I’m going to go support him." Skye grinned.

“You’d better go support him,” she agreed.

Later, when Fitz was stuttering through the portion of his speech when he described meeting Jemma for the first time, Jemma caught sight of the florist leaving. She sighed, oddly disappointed but didn’t dwell on it.

“I think that the florist and Ward would be good together.” They were on their flight back from Scotland, where they had spent a windy and rainy week for their honeymoon. Jemma was itching to get back; she had four different things in oil right now so she could dissect them when she got back to the university lab. She was pretty sure the serum she had developed had minimal effect on the cat’s liver, but she would only know when she got back. That might be a major step in finally completing her second phD. She was writing notes in her journal, highlight the discrepancies in her own numbers and making sure to stress in her methodology that she fed the cat treats several times out of compassion for the poor diabetic creature.

"Ward and who?" Fitz asked absently, not really looking up from his “Monkeys and Their Natural Habitats” book.

"The florist!" Jemma repeated, looking up and jabbing Fitz in the arm lightly with the eraser on her pencil. He looked up and closed his own book so he could frown at her.

"Who?" He asked again. Jemma rolled her eyes.

"Her name is Skye. She did the flowers at our wedding!" She explained.

"Oh right!” Fitz’s face lit up. “Her! Yes! I suppose, she and Ward might be good together," he admitted thoughtfully.

"He should get married," Jemma hummed.

"Ward?" Fitz asked, surprised.

"Yes! Then he’ll stop hanging out with us."

"He barely hangs out with us!" Fitz defended him.

"He hangs out with us too much," Jemma muttered.

"You’re just annoyed because you can’t imitate his accent as well as he can imitate yours," Fitz decided, crossing his arms and looking out of the window sullenly. Jemma rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult Ward," she amended. "And you know I love it when he hangs out with us."

"You do?" Fitz asked timidly. Jemma rolled her eyes.

"You  _know_  I do!”

"Okay," Fitz grumbled, uncrossing his arms. Jemma smiled and started noting down things in her book again.

"How about I invite them over to dinner?" Jemma asked gently, circling “affectionate care of cat” several times in her notebook. Fitz gave her a confused look.

"Who?" he asked.

"Ward and the Florist!" Jemma said, exasperated, looking up from her book notebook again.

"Skye? and Ward? Why?" Fitz wondered.

"Because I think they would make a great couple!" Jemma exclaimed.

"Oh yes! Yes, of course!” Fitz nodded. “I’ll cook." He decided immediately.

"You can’t cook, Fitz," Jemma sighed, though she sounded resigned..

"I can so cook," Fitz muttered. "I’m going to find us a recipe  _right_  now,” he decided, opening his tablet and going on ‘epicurious’ with a mission. Jemma bit her lip, but just shrugged. Fitz could cook, and then she could order out pizza. Or something. She’d figure something out. Most importantly, she would  _finally_ matchmake Ward.

The door of the shop rang. Skye jumped, and quickly closed her laptop. “Coming,” she called, picking up her keys and dropping them into her pocket before she jogged out. Standing in the middle of her shop, hands tucked into her back pockets, stood Jemma Simmons (was it Fitz now? Had she changed her name with her husband? Skye had no idea.)

"Skye’s Flowers," Jemma read aloud from one of the leaflets, and then looked up to grin at Skye. "Sounds like something from a fairytale."

"Fairytale?" Skye repeated, raising an eyebrow. Jemma laughed.

"Well, perhaps just a certain type of romantic," she acknowledged with a shrug.

"Do you like it?" Skye asked, tilting her head.

"A lot!" Jemma said with a smile that seemed to light up her whole face. “It’s  _my_ kind of romantic,” she explained when Skye raised an eyebrow. Skye laughed.

"Okay,” she allowed. “Are you here to ask for more flowers? Or do you want my designs for your wedding?"

"You remember me?" Jemma asked, titling her head in surprise. Skye laughed.

"Of course I remember you!"

"Well I thought, you know, as a  _florist_ , you’d do a lot of weddings.”

"Oh, I do."

"And yet you still remember me?"

"Well, I did save you from falling…"

"It’s true,” Jemma admitted with a small smile. “You  _are_  my personal white knight.”

"I try," Skye admitted with an overt wink. Jemma’s hands flew up to her mouth as she guaffed out loud. "I’m sorry," Skye quickly followed. "I can get too brazen sometimes."

Jemma blushed, but waved it off. “It’s okay,” she admitted. “I just am really bad at flirting.”

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. I nearly shot a man once to save myself flirting with him." Now it was Skye’s turn to laugh.

"What? Really?"

"Yes! He wanted to talk to me about what kind of biology research I was doing, and I had the little gun thing you inject mice with, and then he just was smiling at me and talking, and I wanted to get by."

"So you  _shot him_?”

"I said I  _nearly_  shot him,” Jemma corrected. Skye waved her off.

"Semantics," she sighed. Jemma rolled her eyes.

"Anyway," she began, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I’m here to ask you to have dinner with me - with us." The correction was fast and hurried, but it still made Skye’s stomach drop (how irrational).

"With you?" She repeated.

"With me and Fitz, and Ward," Jemma explained hurriedly. "We all wanted to have dinner."

"With me?" Skye asked, surprised. Jemma grinned.

"Yes! With you!" Skye wanted to ask ‘but why,’ but instead she just nodded. It was easier that way. Jemma lit up. "Great! I’ll send you the details! via email! You have an email, right?"

"Yes, you’ve used it before?"

"Oh yes! of course! for the wedding!" Jemma laughed. "I feel so flustered," she admitted, smoothing her blazer carefully. "I’m so glad you accepted," she added with a grin. Skye grinned back, and watched her leave. She picked up her phone absently and pressed ‘2’ on the speed dial. Miles picked up after the first ring.

"What?" He asked, sounding sleepy and exhausted.

"Have you ever liked a married chick?" She asked him thoughtfully, watching Jemma’s retreating figure through the glass. Miles laughed hollowly.

"When  _haven’t_ I?” he asked.

"Is that a yes?" Skye demanded.

"Yes, of course."

"What do you do?"

"Bang them."

"You are frighteningly unhelpful."

"Of course I am. What else do you expect?"

"I don’t even know."

Forty-five minutes Skye received an email from Jemma’s school email, announcing the time and place of the dinner. The note ended with a “PS: Fitz is cooking, so I advise you eat a large lunch. I’ll be making dessert, so at least that will be edible.”


	2. Part II

"The risotto is simmering," Fitz told Jemma happily as he came into their bedroom. Jemma sighed.

"Well, the chocolate mousse is in the fridge," she said, absently staring at her collection of headbands.

"I know,” Fitz sighed, “But my risotto is going well, as of now." He murmured, slightly hurt. Jemma didn’t notice, instead inserting the tartan hairband into her hair and looking behind her.

"That’s great Fitz. Now, do me into this dress," she said, gesturing at the buttons at the top of her little green dress that needed to be fastened. Fitz stepped forward and did them slowly, watching Jemma’s hand flit over all the jewelry she had laid out on her makeup table.

"Are you okay?" He asked, slightly concerned, as she hummed nervously. Jemma looked up, surprised, and laughed.

"Yes!” She assured him. “I’m fine!" Fitz wasn’t convinced.

"You seem a bit nervous?" He pointed out. Jemma rolled her eyes and ran her brush through her hair again. She got up slowly and walked into their ensuite bathroom. Fitz followed.

"This is our first dinner party as a couple," She explained, picking up her eyeliner pencil.

"We had one just a week before the wedding," Fitz pointed out, leaning against the doorframe and watching her.

"As a  _married_  couple,” Jemma corrected herself, carefully drawing a perfect straight line across one eyelid.

"Oh,” Fitz shrugged. “Well, yes, I suppose so," he agreed. He continued to watch Jemma. She grinned at his reflection in the mirror as she switched eyes. “You look really nice,” Fitz offered. Jemma smiled again.

"I just really want impress Skye," she admitted with a shrug. Fitz raised an eyebrow.

"The florist?" He asked, surprised.

"Yes! The florist! Who else?" Jemma asked, putting away her eyeliner and pulling out her mascara.

"Sorry," he muttered sullenly. Jemma bit her lip and straightened up carefully.

"I’m so sorry, Fitz. I’m just stressed. I want to appear… cool?"

"Cool? What are we, in college?"

"Well, I mean, I don’t want to appear Teenager, Cool; I want to appear Suave."

"Suave?"

"I don’t even  _know_ ,” Jemma sighed, leaning forward again to begin with her mascara. “She seems like such a wonderful person.”

"The florist?” Fitz repeated, genuinely perplexed. “When did you even talk to her?"

"At the wedding," Jemma replied, finishing with mascara.

"When, at the wedding?" Fitz asked. Jemma shot his reflection a confused look as she carefully pencilled her lips red.

"During the reception?" She responded, confused at Fitz’s confusion.

Before Fitz could try and figure out his wife’s unexplainable adoration of the very plain and ordinary florist, the doorbell rang and Jemma sent Fitz to open the door while she put the finishing touches on her make up.

Skye stood in the doorway, though her face was hidden by a large bouquet of flowers.

"Good evening, Fitz!" She was smiling and bright, and Fitz stepped back, taken aback by the flowers. She dumped her flowers in his arms and took off her coat, draping it over a chair and turning around appreciatively.

"This is a nice apartment!" She commented. "Great locaction too," she added.

"Yeah, the tube’s right there," Jemma agreed, waltzing into the room happily. Skye stepped forward as if to embrace Jemma, but Jemma jutted out her hand at the exact same moment, resulting in a slightly awkward handshake-hug.

“I’ll put these in water,” Fitz said, waving around the flowers. Jemma nodded at him absently, and then gestured for Skye to sit down on the sofa.

"Ward is not here," she began lamely. Skye grinned.

"I am a bit early,” she admitted. "How did you meet Ward again?" She asked. Jemma grinned.

"Fitz and Ward worked together for a while," she explained.

"Ward is an engineer too?"

"Oh no! No, Fitz works for the military — he designed weaponry and other stuff like that. it’s kind of top secret, but Ward was his military advisor. They worked together and even did a couple of treks to test some of their equipment."

"Sounds… terrifying," Skye admitted, making a face. Jemma laughed and shook her head.

"It really wasn’t," she promised. "Fitz was safe the whole time, so don’t believe a single dramatic story he tells about it."

"Did he like it?"

"He loved it!"

“Loved?” Skye asked.

“Yeah, he works in a different sector now.”

"Why did he stop?"

"Well…me, mostly. He didn’t really want to leave me alone for  _too_  long.” Skye laughed.

"So you two go way back?"

“ _Way_  back,” Jemma agreed. “We were in the same BA program together at Oxford. We were two of the youngest people in the year; he was insufferable about how he was two weeks younger so we kind of hated each other at first.”

"Really?"

"Well, he swears he never hated me, but I don’t believe him. We had a bitter rivalry going for two months."

"And then what?"

"We were paired in chemistry."

"Did you claw his eyes out?"

"I wanted to, but then we realised we worked better as a team."

"Did you take down the rest of the university?" Skye asked, raising an eyebrow jokingly. Jemma laughed.

"Pretty much. Fitz said he had never met someone as competitive. Which is ridiculous, because  _he_  is that competitive.” Skye chuckled.

"Well, that does sound fun." Jemma tilted her head at Skye.

"Do you have someone in your life?" She asked. "A boyfriend or something?" Skye chuckled.

"Or something," she agreed. Jemma raised an eyebrow politely. Skye shrugged.

"I don’t really like people," she admitted. "So I have a dog."

"A dog?"

"She’s called Van."

"A dog named Van?"

"Well, I used to have a van. But then that broke down."

"You replaced a car with a dog?" Skye laughed.

"It sounds dumb when  _you_  say it,” Skye accused Jemma, “but it makes sense okay.” Jemma giggled.

"Explain it to me one more time," she asked politely. Skye chucked again and leaned forward.

"I’m an orphan; I’ve never really had anyone.” Skye forgot the effect that had on people: Jemma immediately sobered up. Skye continued. “When I was 15 I ran away from a foster home and bought myself a van."

"You were fifteen?" There was an alarmed note of worry in Jemma’s voice. Skye waved it off.

"I was fine," she said dismissively.

"Yes but, I mean… fifteen?!"

"I had a van!"

"You were living in a van?!"

"Yes! But you’re missing the point!"

"What’s the point?"

"It was the first home I had. The first place I could call my own. I worked out of it and could do things. I earned money. I could follow my dreams. My friend told me about this shop, so I bought it. I didn’t really need the van anymore, but it was my first house, so I couldn’t let go of it." Jemma made a sympathetic face.

"When did it break?" She asked.

"Last Christmas. It got caught on some ice and skidded." Jemma gasped; Skye shot her a rueful grin. "My girlfriend at the time picked me up, but neither of us had insurance, so I had to leave the van there. It was basically totalled though, so I would not have been able to afford the repairs."

"I’m so sorry," Jemma sympathized with a frown, instinctively reaching over to touch Skye’s shoulder. Skye smiled and shook her head.

"It’s fine," she said, grinning. "The next day she took me to the pound and we adopted my puppy." Skye pulled out her phone. “Want to see some pictures?”

"Yes!" Skye pulled up a bunch of pictures of her, a young black woman and a tiny black lab puppy.

“She looks beautiful,” and for a second Jemma didn’t know whether she was talking about the tiny black lab, or the woman holding it.

“That’s my ex-girlfriend Akela,” Skye explained. “She was also in the military too! Perhaps she and Ward know each other!”

“Probably?” Jemma offered with a shrug. She handed the phone back to Skye, a weird twinging in her heart. “That looks like a wonderful experience though,” she murmured.

"It really was. Van’s the cutest lab in the country."

"I bet she is," Jemma replied absently.

"Akela wanted to adopt a kitten actually, because that’s what lesbians do, but I refused. I’m more of a dog person." Jemma laughed and wrinkled her nose. She dropped her voice to a whisper.

"Fitz won’t let me keep a cat either because one time I dissected a cat liver and he’s been scared."

"You dissected it  _on my desk_  using my  _dinner plate_ ,” Fitz complained, joining them in the living room and sitting down on the sofa next to Jemma. “She keeps on making me seem  _unreasonable_  in that story, but tell me  _you_  wouldn’t be freaked out by a cat liver on your favorite plate!”

"I was trying to determine whether or not the cat’s diabetes had left any marked scars on its liver."

"I don’t care what you were doing! You were using  _my_  plate.” Jemma rolled her eyes.

"He’s so squeamish," she told Skye with an eye roll. Fitz sniffed and leaned forward.

"Can I get you something to drink, Skye? That is, if my wife is done telling you _slanderous_  tales about me.”

"She’s not done," Jemma noted, "but yes, you can bring us drinks. I’ll have white wine."

"Me too!"

Ward arrived a little later, and then dinner was served. Jemma winced as she ate first bite of risotto; the rice was hard, the food was sticking to itself in large clumps, and worst of all it was terribly salty. Jemma gritted her teeth and ate another bite. Next to her, Skye gulped down a large bite and then washed it back with water. Fitz was happily scraping at his plate, blind to the pain that the food put his guests and wife into.

"Fitz, you really out did yourself," Ward began. Fitz looked up, grinning. Ward’s expression was serious and he shook his head slowly. "You really out did yourself," he repeated, "because there is no way I could imagine food could get this awful." Fitz’s expression crumbled.

"You don’t like it?" He asked sadly. Ward shook his head.

"Not at all. I don’t even know if I should ever legally allow you into the kitchen again after this."

"Jemma?"

"Well, baby…"

"Skye!?"

"I’m so sorry, Fitz…."

Fitz huffed loudly. “Whatever,” he muttered, staring down at his plate. “I went to the Italian market on Southbank especially for this risotto! It was expensive rice, you know?”

"I know, baby. I made chocolate mousse though…"

"No! Everyone, eat at least half your plate."

"Half?" Ward looked horrified. Fitz turned to glare it him.

"I have heard stories of you surviving nine hours of torture. I promise you can eat half a portion of "bad" risotto…"

"But my body!"

"It’s not a temple, so shut up and eat."

"Whatever," Ward sighed heavily. Jemma glanced at Skye and offered her an apologetic smile.

"The mousse is really good," she whispered. Skye laughed.

"I had way worse in my time, promise" she murmured back. Jemma grinned at her, relieved.

When they were carefully scrapping the left over risotto into the trash, Ward turned to Jemma who was sitting on the counter next to Skye. “How is married life then?” He asked, glancing between her and the dish-washing Fitz. Jemma floundered.

"Married life is  _great_ ,” Fitz sighed happily. Ward laughed.

"Is it any different that pre-married life?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow. Fitz laughed.

"Not really," he admitted.

"The honey moon was nice though." Jemma added quickly, guiltily. Skye looked at her and titled her head.

"How did you know you two were… you know.. soul mates?" Fitz laughed and turned to give Skye an incredulous look.

"Have you seen her?" He demanded, nodding at Jemma. Jemma blushed. "I knew I loved her the moment I saw her." Jemma laughed shyly and shook her head.

“No you didn’t,” she admonished him. “The first time we met each other we hated each other.” Fitz chuckled and shook his head. “It took me longer to love Fitz,” she sighed, “though I think that’s because I’m a scientist!”

“Isn’t Fitz a scientist?” Skye asked.

“He’s more of an engineer,” Ward corrected, loading the dishes into the dishwasher. Fitz rolled his eyes, but let his wife continue.

“There was just something so…warm about Fitz, that one day, I could just look at him, and know, that I would love him forever.” She sighed and grinned at her husband, extending her hand affectionately. Fitz stepped forward and bent his head forward so that Jemma could rub his hair with a grin. “Fitz was just always there for me, whether I knew I needed him or not. He was all I could ever need in the world, and it was beautiful and tinged with unique connection. That’s what love is, right?”

“Is it?” Skye interrupted the romantic air of the room with a tilted head. Jemma turned to give her a confused look.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“I think love is so much more than that,” she admitted with a shrug. “I think love is all about stopping for breath the first time you see that person, and always always trying to make them feel that same heart stopping moment they induce in you. I think love is violent and unpredictable and confusing and intensely uncomfortable and lonely as fuck. I think love is something awful, and the only way to process it properly is to clinging to someone else, clinging to the woman you love, or the man, or whatever, and just… I don’t know…” Skye shrugged. “I suppose your kind of love is different, though,” she added quickly as Fitz and Jemma exchanged a confused glance.

"Are you okay?" Ward asked. Skye rolled her eyes and jumped off the counter.

"I don’t know," she admitted with a shrug. "I just always love was about some sort of paralysis."

"Some sort of?" Ward repeated. Skye crossed her arms and shook her head.

"I suppose I can’t explain it."

"Sounds kind of psychotic," Ward admitted with a shrug. Skye sneered at him.

"Whatever," she snapped. Jemma jumped off the counter with her and looped her arm through Skye’s.

"Have I shown you the view yet? From the roof? I think you’d like it."

"You have roof access?"

"Yes! Didn’t I tell you about Fitz’s expensive military contracts?" Skye smiled at that, and let herself be led out by Jemma. Jemma shot Fitz and confused glance over her shoulder, and took Skye away. She didn’t quite understand where this tension had come from, but it had unsettled her. Did she love Fitz  _wrongly_? Was that even a thing? When she had said ‘i love you’ for the first time, months after Fitz had uttered his in her ear while he thought she was asleep, had she been lying to him?  

"You scare me, Skye," she murmured, as she walked Skye up to the roof. Skye smirked.

"I’m different," she promised.

"Not in a good way," Jemma sighed. It was raining. Jemma stopped in front of the glass door, meaning just to stare at London’s rainy skyline from here, but Skye slid open the door and walked outside into the rain.

"What are you doing?" Jemma called, taken aback. Skye laughed.

"I  _just_  told you!” She pointed out. “I’m different.”

"Standing on the roof when it’s drizzling isn’t different," Jemma called back, "It’s just dumb."

"You’re dumb," Skye teased, oddly euphoric. She pulled at Jemma’s arms, and Jemma half-heartedly resisted stumbling onto the roof with her. It was only drizzling, so the water fell into her face lightly. She giggled anyway, pushing her hair out of her face and gasping.

"You’re such a rebel," she teased Skye. Skye giggled.

"Yes," she agreed, "I’m a right old bad girl."

Jemma was going to say something in response to that; something witty and funny and mocking, pointing out that there was nothing rebellious about rains and roofs, but somehow, there was something so important about Skye’s smile. Skye’s smile was almost identical one she had had in the church; it was welcoming, odd, and perfectly reverential. and…. Jemma kissed her, fast and hard. She swallowed Skye’s laugh as she opened her mouth against hers and pulled her closer; one hair in Skye’s hair, the other on Skye’s hip, she felt oddly anchored.

"Jemma?" Ward’s call was quiet, and echoing from the bottom of the stairs. Jemma immediately broke the kiss and turned to the door, covering her mouth guilty.

"Yes?" She squeaked.

"We finished the dishes. Can we have some dessert yet? I think I’m going to be sick otherwise." Jemma turned back to look at Skye. Skye had turned away from her and was staring out at the rain. Jemma wavered for a second; she wanted to apologise, dismiss the incident and run back down stairs into the warmth and light. But she also knew she  _shouldn’t_.

“Jemma?” Ward prompted, his concerned face appearing between the stairs.

“Yes,” Jemma said, hurriedly, stepping forward. “Yes. Let’s go have dessert.”

“Skye?”

“I’ll be down in a second, Ward!” As Jemma stumbled down the stairs, she realised that Skye’s voice sounded surprisingly fragile. But perhaps it had just been warped by the rain.


	3. Part III

"Jemma?" Jemma was sitting on the sofa, staring at her notebook, though her eyes were not moving. She didn’t look up when Fitz called her name.

"Yes Fitz?" She whispered the question against the page, as if she was lost in something, though there was something sharper, more melancholy, in her voice.

"Are you alright?" Fitz asked tentatively, drying his hands on the dishtowel gently.

"What?" Jemma asked, looking up. Fitz bite his lip and wrung the dishtowel in his hands.

"I asked whether you were alright," he repeated.

"Oh yes. Yes, I’m fine!” Jemma replied, smiling in that forced, nervous way. “Why do you ask?"

"You’ve been staring at those notes for the last four minutes."

"Oh I’m just thinking about my lab results," Jemma said with a sigh. Fitz perched on a seat and leaned forward carefully.

"What about them?" He prompted. Jemma’s eyes focused on him and she looked deadly serious as she asked her question.

"Do you think I should document the fact that I have been interacting with the cat."

"What?" Fitz asked, taken aback.

"I mean, do you think I should mention that."

"Why would you?" His forehead furrowed in confusion.

"It might mess with the results," Jemma said absently.

"How have you been interacting with the cat?"

"I’ve been giving her scratches."

"You’ve been petting the cat?"

"Exactly."

"No, that won’t change your results," Fitz said authoritatively. Jemma frowned and tapped her pencil against her notebook.

"I don’t know,” she murmured. “It could change her general happiness."

"I suppose it could.” Fitz admitted. He frowned. “Is that it, Jemma? Is that all you’re worried about? The cat?"

"Yes;” she said it too fast. The words tumbled out of her mouth, and  What else would I be worried about?"

"I don’t know. You didn’t say goodbye to Skye before she left…"

"Yeah well she needed to leave suddenly.

"Are you hurt by that?"

"Me? Hurt? No!"

"You are an awful liar, you know, Jemma."

"I’m not an awful liar, stop saying that Fitz."

"Jemma, we’ve known each other for over a decade. I can tell when you’re lying to me."

"Well, you’re wrong this time."

"I’m not."

"Yes, Fitz," she snapped curtly, “you are. You are really wrong. I’m going to bed now."

"Jemma…" Fitz began, but Jemma stalked off, and Fitz knew better to follow her.

When he settled into the bed nearly two hours later, Jemma determinedly clenched her eyes shut and pretended to sleep. Fitz touched her shoulder, asking her to roll over silently. But Jemma just evened out her breathing and continued to try and forget the warm salty taste of Skye’s lips.

The shop was disgustingly busy for a Wednesday. First, there were three different men wanting to know exactly  _which_  combinations of flowers said “I love you” best, and then an expectant new father desperate for a bouquet that would welcome his “precious baby” into the world “correctly” and then a grieving widow. Too many people, too many emotions; Skye was exhausted. She had just shown a young botany student out when the shop’s fun began ringing loudly. “Hello, Skye’s flowers?” She said with the fake cheerful voice reserved for long days.

“Skye?” The accent was Scottish, though Skye didn’t recognise the voice.

“Yes?” She answered tentatively.

“Heya! This is Fitz – Jemma’s husband!” Skye’s stomach clenched and she forced herself to keep her breathing natural.

“Oh!” She said, slightly too breathily. “Hello?” She offered, awkwardly.

“Yes, I was wondering whether you’d like to take my wife to a show.” Skye blinked.

“A show?” She repeated, incredulously. Jemma must not have told him. Or perhaps she had? And this was his…his what? This did  _not_  make sense.

“Yes! Tomorrow night?” Fitz asked happily.

“Okay,” Skye agreed, instinctively. She bit her lip, and then forced herself to ask “Why?”

“I can’t make it,” Fitz explained casually. “I have to go test my weapons at our testing facilities by the Pennines, so I have to leave Jemma behind.”

“Oh wow, that sucks,” Skye said, instinctively, though her mouth felt oddly dry.

“Yeah, especially because we booked these tickets  _months_  ago! Anyway, do you mind taking her?” He sounded so sad. Skye bit her lip.

“No! Not at all!” She said.

“Fun! I’ll email you the details! Jem has your email address, right?”

“Yes. Yes, she does.”

“Great! Great!! Good-bye, Skye!”

“Bye, Fitz.” Skye put down the phone, and then looked around. That felt surreal… she looked down at the phone. Her first instinct would have been to call Miles, but… this felt too personal. Skye thinned her lips and crossed her arms. Had that really happened? (23 minutes later, an email in her inbox confirmed that it had happened, and that Skye had a date on Saturday night).

Jemma picked Skye up at 7pm sharp in her small black Prius. She had brought Skye a coffee (“I didn’t know what you wanted so I have a bunch of milks and sugars in the glove compartment”) and a map for their show. Skye held up the printed off email that double off their tickets and started laughing.

“We’re going to a  _dog_  show?” She asked, staring at the bring green font that announced LONDON’S MOST PRESTIGIOUS DOG SHOW. Jemma glanced away from the road to Skye’s mirthful face.

“Didn’t Fitz tell you?” She asked, confused.

“No, he just said a  _show_ ,” Skye admitted, chucking.

“What did you think a show was?” Jemma asked, confusing.

“I don’t know! A musical or something!” Skye admitted. Jemma gave her an incredulous look.

“No, that would be performance,” she explained.

“Are you kidding me?” Skye asked, giggling again. Jemma laughed too.

“It’s a British thing…” She tried to explain. Skye quirked an eyebrow and gave Jemma an incredulous look.

“Are you sure it’s not just a ‘your husband’ thing?” She asked. Jemma made a face and waved her off.

“Oh, shush you,” she admonished playfully, “stop trash talking the English language and start reading that map.”

They got there pretty easily; despite Jemma’s horror story about how she and Fitz had tried to attend the event last year and had gotten so horribly lost they missed the whole show, Skye was able to manoeuver them through the complicated series of exits of the M-25 and to the race track with 13 minutes to spare.

Skye was taken aback at how crowded the stands were; it was a chilly evening, and yet the stands were completely crowded with people of all ages out to support the dogs and their owners who were warming up in the center of the field. The area was originally a race track, so the area was massive, and Jemma seemed to be delighted when they settled in the front seats.

The dog show was an incredibly fun experience; Skye would never have predicted it. Fifteen dogs were paraded around, and then played with, run through obstacle courses and then evaluated. Jemma and Skye sat in the first row, and Jemma happily discussed the finery of dog shows with her.

“That’s a border collie,” she would explain, pointing at the dog, “and he is one of the best dogs this side of Essex!”

“You know  _a lot_  about dogs.” Jemma laughed.

“Don’t you have one?”

“Yes! I do! But she could never do  _anything_  like this,” Skye admitted. Jemma raised an eyebrow.

“There is time yet,” she promised. Skye licked her lips, and didn’t say anything else, though her heart fluttered oddly.

“Okay,” Jemma said, slipping her arm through Skye’s. “We did my thing now. What do you like to do?”

“Me?”

“Yeah! It’s 10pm on a Friday! What shall we do? It’s your choice!”

“I can choose anything?”

“Anything you want.”

“Okay! I have an idea!” Skye said, excitedly pulling at Jemma’s arm. Jemma narrowed her eyes.

“It’s not something I’d disapprove of, right?” She checked. Skye laughed.

“What are you thinking of?” She asked, giggling.

“A strip club, mainly,” Jemma admitted. Skye laughed.

“No, I’m not taking to a strip club,” she promised.

“Where  _are_  you taking me then?” Jemma asked.

“You’ll see,” she promised mischievously. Jemma rolled her eyes.

“I should have never trusted you,” she decided. Skye chuckled.

“Never,” she agreed. “I’m driving.”

"You know, if I didn’t know you better, I would worry you had taken me out here to mug me." Jemma was standing on the path in Hyde Park, stopping her legs together as Skye grinned at her.

"I’m so glad you trust me then," she chuckled, walking back to offer Jemma her hand. "That bench over there is empty. We can sit down now."

"I don’t know how long I can sit down. It’s really quite chilly…"

"Stop being such a drama queen!"

"I’m not being one! My coat is just a lot thinner than yours!" Skye looked down at Jemma’s stylish trench coat, and then glanced at her own thick woollen one. She shrugged.

"That is true," she reasoned. They reached the bench and she grinned. "I have an idea," she said happily, and began unbuttoning her coat.

"What are you doing?!" Jemma asked, aghast. Skye chuckled and offered an arm of the coat to Jemma.

"This coat is way too big for me," she explained. "I bought it at a flea market; it’s a men’s winter coat. You can have the left arm, I’ll have the right arm, and as long as we snuggle up together we’ll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I’m positive," Skye promised. Jemma bit her lip, wavering for a second, and then she slipped into the coat. They maneuvered their way down the bench: Skye was right, the coat was large enough to comfortably fit between the two of them when Jemma leaned into Skye. She had to admit, they fit incredibly well together; she could tuck her chin in under Skye’s, and Skye buried her face in her hair and they laughed gently.

"Why are we out here?" Jemma asked, after a moment of comfortable silence. She looked up; Skye grinned and then pointed up at the sky.

"Stargazing," she explained. Jemma tilted her head. The sky wasn’t clear; there were wisps of clouds, and every so often they obscured the dim half full moon that hung in the sky. But even with these less than favourable conditions, Jemma could understand why Skye had taken her here for stargazing. Although the light pollution of London interfered annoyingly with the visibility of stars, Jemma could see Orion’s belt glistening in the east. Skye pointed out the Libra, and then Ursa Minor and Ursa Major. "Those are the only four I know," she admitted. "Well, also the pleiades, but I don’t think I have ever seen them. I have just seen groups of four or five stars and immediately decided those must be the pleiades, even though that makes no sense." Jemma laughed.

"I know nothing about stars," she admitted. "I am far too earthbound."

"It’s the problem with being a biology student," Skye agreed. "Sometimes I focus too much on my flowers, and I forget that every molecule of the universe is stunning and beautiful. They don’t need to be arranged into stunning colours; they can just simply exist, and that miracle is enough for me."

"You’re terribly optimist, aren’t you?"

"I try."

It was well past midnight when Jemma dropped Skye off in front of her apartment. The street was empty, so Jemma idled in the middle of the road.

“Thank you,” she started at the same time that Skye said “thanks.” They laughed together, and then Skye nodded at Jemma graciously.

“You start,” she instructed.

“I just wanted to say thank you so much for such a fun evening. I don’t think I had ever paid so much attention to the stars before.” Skye laughed.

“Sorry I couldn’t give you more concrete knowledge then!” Skye admitted. Jemma shook her head.

“No, it was perfect. Just like that.” She smiled happily. Skye bit her lip.

“Thank  _you_ ,” she echoed, leaning forward instinctively and touching Jemma’s hand that still sat on the steering wheel. Jemma took her hand and squeezed it. “This was way better than the Friday night I had initially planned,” she murmured.

“What did you have planned?”

“Sitting in the dark and watching Netflix with Van.” Skye chuckled.

“Yeah, this  _was_  better than that,” she decided. Skye grinned at her, and then licked her lips again. This felt like a moment, a charged moment, and she wanted to lean forward and kiss Jemma again; did she still taste like salt and wood?

Skye leaned forward slightly; Jemma’s eyes dropped to Skye’s lips, and then back up to Skye’s eyes again. It was a perfect moment; Jemma tugged, lightly, on Skye’s hand. Skye leaned forward a tiny bit more.

And then the car was filled with the loud sound of Skye’s phone ringing. They jumped apart, as if suddenly awakened to reality. Skye pulled her phone out of her pocket, gestured towards it and muttered “I should probably take this.”

She picked up the phone and tried to exit the car simultaneously, though she embarrassed herself once she realised she was still wearing her seatbelt. Miles was chatting in her ear loudly; Skye could hear the background noises of a bar as Miles tried to convince her to come out with him. Skye watched Jemma drive away with a sad wave, and then turned around towards her apartment.

“I’m sorry, Miles,” she murmured. “I’m not joining you tonight.”

“What? I couldn’t hear you Skye!!”

“I said no,” Skye repeated heavily, hanging up the phone. She walked into her apartment building with an incredibly heavy heart and a sinking feeling that she would never, ever see Jemma again. She had  _really_  fucked up.

She walked into her apartment, was assaulted by Van, and curled up on the sofa. As the dog nuzzled her face, licking her in excitement, Skye tried to remember that she wouldn’t  _always_  be this alone.

Crying in the car was unhealthy and probably dangerous, but Jemma couldn’t help herself. She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore this weird  _fluttery_  feeling in her heart as tears streaked down her face. It wasn’t  _fair_ ; it wasn’t fair to Fitz, it wasn’t fair to Skye, and it wasn’t fair to  _anyone_.

Jemma didn’t go home.

She didn’t want to go home and sit down on the couch that she and Fitz had bought at that auction and drape the woolen blanket that Fitz’s mother had knitted her around her shoulder and cry with the tissues that she and Fitz had bought together last time they did grocery shopping as a couple.

The lab at the university was a 24 hour lab. The cat meowed as Jemma let it out of its cage, and it waddled over to Jemma happily as she produced the treats out of her lab coat.

“I’m the worst,” she told the cat as she began to sob, burying her face in the warm fur.

The cat just meowed


	4. Part IV

"Skye?" Jemma was standing in the middle of the flower shop, hands in her back pockets again. She had fought with Fitz that morning; it was inane and so unfair to him, but she couldn’t look him in the eyes and she wanted him to be angry at her. She  _needed_  him to be angry at her.

She wanted him to glare at her and rip into her; instead, he looked at her with big surprised eyes and asked her whether or not he should cook dinner tonight. He deserved so much better. But then Skye pushed the bead curtain aside and emerged from the backroom; her face was unreadable. Jemma bit her lip and tried to remind herself that she needed to be better.

"Hey, Jemma," Skye murmured. "What’s up?"

"Nothing is up," Jemma replied hurriedly. "I came because…" She trailed around and looked around the store. "I came to buy flowers." She said quietly.

"What flowers do you want?" Skye asked.

"Ones for Fitz. My husband," she added; as if somehow that would alleviate her of the overwhelming guilt. Skye smiled sadly and collected a bunch of the ones already sitting on the counter.

“Are these okay?” She asked; they were a collection of orange flowers. Jemma tilted her head. “What are they?” She asked softly.

“Well, this is a spray rose,” Skye began, picking them up one by one and slowly inserting them into a bouquet. “This is a small ranunculus, this is an alstoroemeria.”

“Astro-leme-ia,” she tried to repeat, messing up the pronunciation. Skye smiled softly.

“Alstroemeria,” she repeated. “It’s a Peruvian lily,” she explained. “It only grows in very hot climates, though I have managed to foster one in my greenhouse.”

“You have a greenhouse?”

“Yeah, it’s on my roof.”

“That’s so cool.” Skye grinned at that. She picked up the next flower.

“This is a gerbera daisy,” she finished, inserting the flower in the center. “Do you want me to add a carnation? They can add a bit of pink…” There was something soft in her voice, Jemma wanted to fall into the trap. Jemma forced herself to stand up straighter again.

“No,” she said, decidedly. Skye looked up, surprised by her change to tone. “They’re for my husband,” Jemma said, by way of explanation. Skye sighed and bit her lip.

"I know," she sighed heavily. And there was heavy guilt in her voice. Jemma bit her  _own_  lip and stepped forward.

"Skye," she murmured.

"What?" Skye asked, looking up. Her bangs were in his eyes. Jemma resisted the urge to lean forward, over the counter separating them, and slowly brush the hair out of her eyes.

“I’m  _married_ ,” Jemma whispered. Skye smiled sadly and looked down at her hands that were tying the flowers together.

“I know,” Skye murmured.

“I  _love_  Fitz,” Jemma repeated.

“I  _know_ ,” Skye murmured.

“I  _can’t_  do this.”

“I’m not  _asking_  you to do anything!” Skye snapped, looking up sharply. Jemma stepped back from the counter, taken aback. Skye lowered her voice again to a quiet comment. “You’re the one who kissed  _me_ , remember?” She murmured. Jemma cross her arms and stared out of the window into the drizzle.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. Skye laughed quietly and handed Jemma the bouquet with a shrug.

“Keep it,” she said and then she spun around and walked into the backroom.

Jemma stood in the middle of the empty shop and listened to the rain, and the silence. She wavered; she wanted to run back to work and pick up the fat cat and rub her nose in its white fur until she could stop crying. But she also wanted to walk into the backroom and tell Skye —

Tell Skye what? That she had messed up? That she would fix it?

She turned to leave.

Then she turned around.

She carefully put down her bouquet.

She took a deep breath. And she went into the backroom (the beads tangled in her hair, but she pushed them aside). Skye had her back to her and looked behind her, surprised, when the beads rattled announcing her entrance. “Je-” before she could finish the words and say something damming that Jemma couldn’t ignore, like “no Jemma” or “Jemma leave,” Jemma bounded across the room and kissed her again. It felt so natural, and so wonderfully hot. She breathed out with a quick gasp as Skye’s hand anchored itself in her hair and pulled her closer. Jemma opened her mouth against hers and reveled as Skye’s tongue pushed against hers. Skye tasted like spearmint and sometimes lighter, more bitter (perhaps something more floral). Jemma gripped her shoulders hard, her nails digging into Skye’s arm.

"Jemma," Skye whispered quietly, longingly.

"Skye," Jemma murmured back, a quiet promise, before she kissed her again. Skye’s back hit the back door with a bump, and Jemma pushed her against it. Her hands dropped from Skye’s shoulders; one hand cupped Skye’s cheek, running a thumb along her cheekbones and underneath her almond eyes. The other hand dropped to Skye’s right hip and pulled her closer, gently nudging their hips together as she tilted her head up and deepened the kiss. She had to push up on tip toes just a tiny bit to catch Skye’s lips again, but Skye chuckled against her, pleased to notice this. Their noses dumped, and then Jemma kissed Skye again, harder; Skye right hand dropped from Jemma’s hair to her ass to pull her closer, meshing their hips together. She turned them around, so that now Jemma was leaning against the door. Jemma pouted, and opened her mouth to complain, but Skye kissed her, so Jemma couldn’t.

"Don’t say anything," Skye murmured, pushing her forehead into hers and looking into her eyes. Her hand came up to cup Jemma’s cheek again. "Don’t say anything, and just let me remember this moment." Jemma looked up at her with large brown eyes, cataloguing her face. Her hand slipped down around Skye’s throat, though it wasn’t a threatening gesture. Rather, it sat there, a comforting presence, reminding Skye that this was all real. This was all happening. She breathed in; Jemma smelt like labs and alcohol and pencil sharpening. It was a beautiful, oddly organic smell that Skye never wanted to loose. She nuzzled Jemma’s hair and breathed her in, again.

"You are so beautiful," she whispered into Jemma’s hair. Jemma sighed happily and smiled up at Skye, the back of her head leaning against the door so she could look up at Skye.

“ _You’re_  beautiful,” she disagreed, pushing Skye’s bangs out of her eyes. Skye leaned into the palm of her hand and kissed it softly.

"I don’t know if I will be able to live without you," Skye murmured, letting Jemma’s hand muffle her whisper. Jemma’s smile faded, and she straightened up slowly. Skye saw that their moment was over; she stepped away from Jemma, giving her space. Jemma watched her unhappily. She couldn’t decide what caused her more pain: doing this with Skye, or watching Skye’s face fall when they were not doing this.

"Fitz," Jemma began quietly. Skye shook her head.

"I know," she whispered.

"Should I leave?" Jemma murmured.

"You’d better." Skye agreed with a heavy sigh. Jemma gulped and nodded, and then left, making sure to pick up her bouquet of flowers. Skye had the sense to wait until the bell sounded announcing that Jemma had left the store before she started crying.

Tripp came out of the University building humming happily and sat down at the picnic table next to Jemma. “What’s up, Jemma?” He asked cheerfully. Jemma jerked up

"Nothing is up!” She snapped. “Why do people keep on asking me that?" Tripp looked at her, perplexed and taken aback.

"It’s an expression," He pointed out quietly. “But are you okay?”

"Sorry, Trip," Jemma muttered, burying her face in her hands. "I have not been feeling well recently."

"Newly-wed life not been the dream?” Tripp asked carefully. Jemma’s eyes began filling with tears. “Is Fitz being annoying? I read that was a thing," he offered when Jemma shook her head, but didn’t answer.

"You read that that was a thing?” She asked, as another tear streaked down her face. “What does that mean? Are you reading Vogue again?"

"Firstly, its  _People_  magazine,” Tripp corrected her carefully, |and secondly they have a great section for pet care.” Jemma laughed through her tears.

"Pet care?" She repeated, the incredulously in her voice weakened by the wavering.

"I was worried whether or not I was feeding Sami the right balance between vegetables and meats," Tripp explained.

"Sami is a dog," Jemma pointed out, blowing her nose in her napkin.

"Yes? And?" Tripp asked, jokingly aggressive. Jemma laughed weakly.

"What did  _People_  magazine recommend?” She asked.

"It said that I should warm up his food more," Tripp admitted, opening his Tupperware and slowly taking out his sandwich.

"Warm it up?" Jemma repeated, incredulous.

"Yup!” Tripp chirped cheerfully. “Cool, right?"

"You warm up your dogs’ food?" Jemma repeated. Tripp narrowed his eyes at her.

"Are you mocking me?" He asked carefully.

"No,” Jemma assured him laughing. “No I’m not,” She repeated, running her napkin under her eyes. She sighed. “I’m just tired. Fitz and I had our first fight."

"Oh Jemma, I’m so sorry," Tripp murmured sympathetically.

"It’s okay. I mean, it’s not his fault," Jemma murmured, staring down at the knots in the picnic bench.

"Are you sure?" Tripp asked.

"I’m a hundred percent sure. He’s being the same perfect person that he normally is, and I’m just being an awful awful brat."

"Jemma! I’m sure you’re not!" Tripp assured her, putting down his sandwhich and laying a hand on her arm comfortingly.

"No, I am, Tripp," Jemma assured him.

"You’re not!"

"Trip, can you keep a secret?"

"For you, anything." the wink was exaggerated; it was an insider joke. But today was not a day for insider jokes, and Jemma grabbed him, and hugged him hard. Burying her face in his rough shirt that smelled of deodorant and slightly alcoholic plastic, she began sobbing.

"I kissed someone else," she gasped between sobs, clinging on to Tripp’s shirt. To Tripp’s credit, his only reaction was to hug her, slowly patting her back until she stopped crying hysterically.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He offered, slightly at a loss. Jemma wiped her arm across her face and laughed noisily.

"Do I?" She repeated sarcastically. "I feel like I’m going to explode."

"I know what you mean," Trip sympathized. "Just start from the beginning."


	5. Part V

Skye was walking Van. It was cold; the hood of her windbreaker was up against the biting autumn winds. She watched the black lab run through the damp leaves and grinned.

"You’re an idiot," she told her dog affectionately. The lab’s ears perked up and she jogged back to her leisurely, checking whether or not Skye had called her. When she shook her head at it and continued walking, Van ran to pick up a stick to bring to her. Skye shook her head, smiled sadly and stuck her hands in her pockets and walked resolutely up the hill. She sighed; her breath misted in front of her. It was late autumn; nearly time for winter. She looked up at the sky; she hoped she would still get another two days of strongish sun. She came to the crest of the hill, and out of some sort of masochistic habit, looked at the bench. The bench she and Jemma had stargazed from; the one she could no longer sit on.

It had only been 2 weeks. Two weeks since Jemma had  _kissed_  Skye, and then left. Skye had gone through so many different stages, flickering between anger and depression and drunkenness and then anger again. None of them helped, and in the end she still needed to get out of bed every morning and walk the dog and open the shop, even if her insides felt empty and breathing was oddly painful.

The bench was occupied.

Someone was sitting on it. Skye did a double take. The figure was small, and hunched over, and wore a hood, so there was no way Skye could tell who it was. And yet a combination of pure instinct and what she was pretty sure was wishful thinking set her senses alight. She looked back and called Van. Her voice made the figure on the bench start, and then turn towards her. Skye stopped in the middle between the path and the hill; Jemma was sitting there. Jemma got up slowly.

"Don’t leave," she began quietly; her voice was quiet, but it cut through the misty early morning air of Hyde Park as clearly as a knife.

"What are you doing here?" Skye whispered, something deep inside her stomach twisting painfully while something in her heart rose into her mouth.

"I left him."

"What?" Skye’s voice was strong, but her heart was beating manically.

"Well, better said, he left me," Jemma added, glumly. She folded her hands into the front punch of her hoodie and looked morose and small to Skye. And yet couldn’t help herself.

"What?" She asked again.

"I told Fitz.” Jemma took a deep breath, and then, loudly and evenly continued: “I told Fitz about you. About us. And he realised. I mean, he made me realise. I can’t live without you. I don’t want to live without you. I want to be around you all the time. You’re unique, and wonderful, and vibrant, and just far too perfect ever too lose." Skye swallowed; she felt like she was collapsing, and falling apart, and becoming stronger at the same time.

"And so you decided to sit in the park?" She asked, tilting her head.

"No, I was getting up the nerve to come to the shop."

"You were?" Jemma smiled weakly at that.

"Of course I was,” she murmured. “I just had to think of the right words first."

"So that speech was rehearsed?" Skye asked, weirdly disappointed by that. Jemma shook her head; the action made her hood fall back. Her hair was tightened in a small bun and looked romantically messy and unwashed.

"I tried to think of the right words, but I just couldn’t,” Jemma murmured. “I have been sitting on that bench for nearly two hours. Here, feel my hands." Jemma stepped forward. The gulf between, one that had felt five hundred miles deep, was traversed in three short strides. Suddenly, Jemma was  _there_ , and she put her cold hands, cold as marble, and terribly pale, on Skye’s hand. Skye looked down at their touching hands awkwardly.

"They are cold," she admitted, gulping.

"I couldn’t think of anything," Jemma murmured. "There were no words to express how sorry I was. How sorry I was that I had got you and Fitz and everyone else involved in this mess. And so I was just sitting here, trying to justify why you should ever look me in the eye even to myself. And the more I thought about it, the more I realised, I didn’t deserve you." Skye closed her hand around Jemma’s and gripped her tight. Jemma smiled sadly. "And then I saw you," she added in a hoarse whisper.

"You deserve happiness, Jemma," Skye whispered.

"You do too."

"Then why don’t we try being happy together?" Skye murmured. Jemma bit her lip and looked at Skye searchingly.

"Would you have me back?" She asked quietly.

"In a heartbeat, if you asked," Skye replied.

"Can I ask?" Skye laced her fingers through Jemma’s and pulled her forward lightly. Jemma fell into her, and Skye clung to her, embracing her hard.

"Yes," she murmured into Jemma’s hair. "Please, please do.


End file.
